


Rainbow Blight

by V_Prime



Series: A King's Journey [4]
Category: Dappervolk (Video Game)
Genre: At least 20 loads of cum shoved in one person, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Forced, Forced Orgasm, Fuck Or Die, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Knifeplay, M/M, Mind Rape, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, oran is sweet, too much cum, wras still sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27088615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_Prime/pseuds/V_Prime
Summary: Captain Wras is many things: Cruel, cold, calculating, heartless. He'd been called everything under the sun by a lot of people, but never had he been aloser. He was going to win this time, no matter how dirty he had to play, and the World-hopper was going to regret forcing his hand.Wras had to prove that he was better, smarter, and crueler than the World-hopper could ever be.
Series: A King's Journey [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966381
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Rainbow Blight

**Author's Note:**

> The events here are directly related to the events in [Golden Retribution](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26852437), but you don't need to read it to understand the meat of it.

Though Zuzélan hadn’t planned to stay more than an hour in Peddler’s Port, his little tryst with Oran made him rethink it—if only just for a few days. While Oran counted out the potatoes for his trinkets, so close that their elbows were touching, Zuzélan had made up his mind. 

“I was thinking of staying in Peddler’s Port for a week or two,” he started, staring off towards the sea. He wasn’t looking at Oran, but it’s not like there was anyone else around to talk to anyway. Oran would know he was talking to him.

“Yeah? Why’s that? I don’t suppose you’ve got another artifact just laying around like that Dream box?” Oran laughed and started tossing coins into the duffel bag, flipping them one by one for something to do. 

Joining Oran in his coin tossing, Zuzélan took some time to figure out how to word what he wanted to say. He decided being blunt was probably the best, for now. “It’s hard for me to consider people friends. There’s a lot you need to share with them. Vulnerability, I suppose, is a big one—and you have to enjoy spending time with them, too.” He paused to take a breath and organize his thoughts, and Oran stayed thoughtfully quiet to give him room to speak. 

“I don’t remember where I come from. I have nothing to share. Nothing to offer—nothing to be vulnerable over, nothing I fear. I don’t have to worry about someone hurting me with my past… but it means I can’t connect to people, either. Nothing to offer,” Zuzélan repeated himself. 

“You’re being vulnerable right now,” Oran rightly pointed out. He flipped the last coin into the bag, then leaned his side against the counter to regard Zuzélan. “Having your memories locked up doesn’t mean you have to be, too.” 

“I guess you’re right.” Zuzélan shrugged and looked down at his hand. The dimming sunlight made his skin sparkle more, but it also seemed to absorb the light and give his blue skin a depth that it didn’t have at night. “I brought it up because I wanted to say, you’re as close to a friend as I’ve got, other than Olievar, and I want to spend more time with you before I leave.” 

He felt Oran shaking with laughter he was struggling to contain. “King, I thought it was obvious we were friends already! You’re embarrassing me, making me look like an idiot. Hell, I even told Pai we were friends when they mentioned you a couple of weeks ago. Of course we can hang out. Hell, you can sleep in my tent if you want.” 

“I only saw a couch in there.” Zuzélan tilted his head and looked up to the right, staring at Oran. 

“You can sleep on me, I can sleep on you, something like that.” He waved his hand in a non-committal fashion. “Neither here nor there, it’ll work.” 

“I could be wrong, but this sounds like a ploy to have sex tonight.” Zuzélan was still staring at Oran, deadpan, trying not to crack a smile. 

“You wound me, King! I’m trying to be a generous host.” He reached behind them to lightly smack Zuzélan’s ass. “You did say I could see this later, though. It’s your own fault,” 

“I did say that,” Zuzélan snorted. He lost the fight and smiled, then looked out at the sea again. “Yes to both. I don’t do romance, though, so if you think you’re going to catch feelings, maybe we shouldn’t.” 

“Nah, I’m a big boy. I can handle myself. Thanks for telling me.” He clapped Zuzélan on the shoulder and grabbed the stuff he’d just bought. “Hold down the fort while I put this stuff away? I can’t wait to show Pai the Dream box. They got the eighth one a few years ago from under my nose and teased me about it all the time, it’s payback time.” He gave them an impish smirk, and disappeared into the tent when Zuzélan gave them an affirming nod. 

The rest of the afternoon, Zuzélan lounged on his elbows against the wooden counter and helped Oran make sales; it was fun, in a way, and Zuzélan could see why Oran chose to do this for a living. Socializing without any expectations on his shoulders made it a lot easier. There was no commitment past the sale. 

At night, when they entered the tent to “sleep”, Zuzélan expected more rough sex, and had honestly been looking forward to it, but Oran had instead laid him down on the couch and rubbed every inch of Zuzélan’s bare skin with some kind of spicy oil that smelled of cinnamon and set his nerves alight, then gave him oral until he came—twice. Oran hadn’t let Zuzélan reciprocate, and they fell asleep chest to chest, Oran on top with his head tucked into Zuzélan’s neck. 

Zuzélan hadn’t let the oral slide, electing to give Oran a blowjob to wake him up the next morning, and the rest of the week was much the same as the day before: they made sales together, then fell asleep on the couch at night, sometimes having sex, but most of the time not. 

During the day, Zuzélan and Oran would talk. Sometimes it was philosophy, and sometimes Oran filled him up with stories, because he knew Zuzélan wanted experiences of his own and that was the closest he would get. They were both good listeners, and Zuzélan was glad he could say he had at least two friends now. Oran made great company, in a way that was easy to get along with. It was at the end of the week when things went wrong. 

Oran and Zuzélan had fallen asleep in a tangle of limbs, and had Zuzélan not been such a deep sleeper, he might have woken up—but pirates, especially Wras’ pirates, knew what they were doing, and he woke up to the early morning chill from the sea, without the toasty body atop him to keep him warm. 

Even though it wasn’t _unheard of_ for Oran to be awake this early, it certainly was unusual, and something was setting off alarm bells, though he wasn’t sure what. Zuzélan gave the room a once-over and his heart sank when he saw a dagger embedded in one of Oran’s books—the one he’d fallen asleep reading last night, now on the floor, with a green inked arrow staining the tent and pointing at it. 

Carefully, Zuzélan picked it up and yanked the knife from the leather, then opened the front cover. There was a note scrawled on the cover page in that same lurid green ink. 

_“Hᴇʏ Wᴏʀʟᴅ-ʜᴏᴘᴘᴇʀ, ᴡᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ! I ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜss ᴡᴀs ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ, sᴏ I “ᴘᴇʀsᴜᴀᴅᴇᴅ” ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ, ɢʏᴀʜᴀʜᴀ. I’ʟʟ sᴇᴇ ɪғ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ sᴘᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ᴏғ ʜɪᴍ ʙɪɢ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ғᴏʀ ʜɪs ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴜʀʏ._

__

Tᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʜᴀᴛ, ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ. I’ʟʟ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪʀᴅ-ʀᴀᴛᴇ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʜᴇʀᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ—ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ɪs ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʀᴇsᴄᴜᴇ ʜɪᴍ! I’ʟʟ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇ’ʀᴇ ᴀᴛ Nᴇᴛᴛʟᴇʙᴜʀɴ. Dᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟsᴇ, ᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ɢᴜᴇss ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴs.

__

_I ᴡᴀʀɴᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇss ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ. I ᴡᴏɴ’ᴛ ʟᴏsᴇ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ.”_

Zuzélan found his hand shaking with anger. Wras had taken this feud too far. He didn’t care if he was used and abused because it meant nothing to him—but Oran didn’t deserve to be wrapped up in this, and it would be his fault if Pai and Agnes lost another member of their family.

Knowing Wras was serious about his threat, Zuzélan did not tell Pai or Agnes. He threw the book aside, knocking over a different pile of books, and ransacked the tent looking for a map. It took what felt like an age, but he finally found an old cartography book, and inside was what he was looking for: a tiny dot in the forest labeled “Nettleburn”; it seemed like an old, abandoned hamlet in the forest to the east. 

Not even caring that he could be destroying a priceless artifact, Zuzélan tore the page out of the book, stole a compass, and threw on some clothes—none of the flimsy shorts and tank tops he’d been wearing for the last week. No, he pilfered Oran’s hoard and found the pieces of leather armor and put them on over those flimsy clothes, along with a spear to give the illusion that he was prepared for a fight. 

He had no intention to fight, but if Wras felt like it was an easy win, he would never stop. 

Clutching the map tightly in his hand, Zuzélan exited the tent and began to head east, his jaw clenched. In-between checking the map and the compass, Zuzélan wondered if he was going to die. Wras was escalating in a huge way, and Zuzélan didn’t know if he would be satisfied with just winning. 

There wasn’t much Zuzélan could do, though; if it was a choice between him and Oran, he would pick Oran every time. Not just because they were friends, but because Oran was worth more than him in every way. What was one less alien on this world? Zuzélan had no home, no family, and only distant memories of their sense of duty. 

He supposed, as he pushed through the forest, that his sense of duty could be tied to whoever he was before the amnesia. A desire to sacrifice for the good of others. There was no reason for him to feel that here, in this place that was not his home, so it had to be some remnant he’d forgotten. 

It was a slightly bitter pill to swallow, that he was being driven by something he could never, ever understand again, even if he tried his whole life—and that was why nothing that happened to him mattered. 

Oran, though, had a family that had already been torn apart more times than it deserved. Zuzélan didn’t want to be the reason three became two, and he just had to hope Wras would be content with making Zuzélan “lose”.

Zuzélan had a part to play. He couldn’t be too defiant, or Oran would die—but if he submitted too easily, Wras would know how much what he was doing didn’t matter to him. Zuzélan had to show vulnerability to show weakness, so Wras could exploit it, and that meant he had to focus on Oran and being a “hero”. 

As he convinced himself that it was worth it, the trees began to thin. Then Zuzélan could see the abandoned hamlet up ahead thick with weeds and thorns, and he had to use his spear to carve a path through them. He looked closely at each of the five run-down buildings here and saw the barn had a path pre-made through the weeds, and Zuzélan figured that was the one. 

Though he wanted to just walk in and allow it to play out, he had to perform theatrics or Wras wouldn’t be satisfied—so Zuzélan sighed and moved as quietly as he could to the door, and used his magic to pull the pins out of the rotting door’s hinges. Then he sent the door flying inward with a sharp kick. 

The moment he did so, a dagger sailed through the air that he blocked with the flat of his spear, and he saw the flurry of motion as everyone inside rushed to attack him. With a pang, he saw Oran being held at the far end of the barn by Wras and two of his pirates; he could only see him siting on the floor, a gag tied around his mouth before Zuzélan had to begin fighting his way through the pirates. 

It was a hard part to play. Zuzélan had to be just strong enough to knock some of the pirates unconscious, blasting them off their feet using magic and spear alike. “Right, crew, back off!” He heard Wras yell to his crew, and they scurried like rats to make a path. When he could finally see Wras again, the captain held a blade to Oran’s next, smirking from ear to ear and showing off his sharp teeth. “By all means, keep going. I’d like nothing better than to gut him right here, right now.” Wras dug the point of the blade into Oran’s ruddy skin, allowing a single bead of his blood to drip and stain the floor. 

Zuzélan was still surrounded by pirates, still in a battle stance, but he allowed some hesitation to show on his face. “You’ve gone too far, Wras,” Zuzélan said, and the words felt cloying. Too theatrical. 

Wras didn’t seem to notice, though. “Too far? No, World-hopper, this is called beating you. I’ve gotta teach you a lesson, and you handed him to me.” The tip of the knife flicked and there was more blood. Oran seemed to be trying to bite through the rag, yelling unintelligibly. 

“Let him go, or I’ll make you,” Zuzélan said. It was dangerous to provoke him, but he couldn’t see any other way, unless he showed some kind of weakness. So Zuzélan lowered the spear, holding it loosely at his side. “Wras, please. He hasn’t done anything wrong, and it’s me you want, isn’t it?” 

“That it is,” Wras said coyly. “I don’t know, what can you offer for him?” 

“I’m not going to buy him from you,” Zuzélan said, trying to force some emotion into his voice—anger, frustration, sadness. Anything. “You know I’m stronger than you, I proved it last time. You can’t win a fair fight against me.” 

At that, Wras laughed, and the pirates who weren’t unconscious laughed with him until it echoed around the barn. “Who said I want it to be a _fair_ fight? You squiddin’ me? Screw that, I win because I’m cleverer than you. You can get yourself all dolled up for a fight, but it won’t change that the _second_ you take another step, I’ll cut the artery from his neck and make you eat it. So like I said, World-hopper: what can you offer for him?” 

Zuzélan gave what he hoped was a longing look to Oran, and he waited a precious half-minute while he “thought about it”. Oran must have seen the look in his eyes and known what he was about to do, because he was furiously shaking his head no and yelling through the gag. Both Wras and Zuzélan pretended he wasn’t protesting; hoping he sounded properly broken up about it, Zuzélan sank to his knees, dropped his spear, and hid his face in his hands—if only to get a few brief moments where he didn’t have to plaster a fake look on his face. “I don’t have anything,” he said, muffling his reply through his leather glove. “I can’t buy him from you, just please let him go. I can’t be the reason his family suffers another loss.” 

That sounded a bit too dramatic to Zuzélan, but he couldn’t unring a bell—and it didn’t seem like Wras was put off by it. In fact, he seemed to be relishing it. “Oh, now this is delicious. The World-hopper on his knees, brought to tears for the merchant! It’s like one of those mermaid romances, isn’t it boys?” 

The crew laughed again, and then Zuzélan heard Oran’s familiar voice shouting at him, having worked his way free from the gag with Wras distracted. “He’s gonna drug you, King! Get the hell—” there was a blunt sound of metal hitting skin, and a shout of pain. Zuzélan looked up just in time to see the pirate with a metal baton step back, and Oran tried to double over with pain, even though he was tied up by the third pirate. He was drawing breath through gritted teeth, but it looked like he couldn’t quite get a full lung. 

One of the pirates kicked the spear across the empty barn floor, and Zuzélan closed his eyes—knowing even as he did so that it would be the trigger, just like before. Looking away from Wras for even a moment meant he would strike like the viperous monster he was. 

Sure enough, Zuzélan heard laughter, and felt himself get knocked down on his back with a hard hit to his armored chest. It felt like another metal baton, and though he thought he should play along and pretend to be in pain, it didn’t feel safe yet. He sucked in a breath through his teeth to make Wras believe he wasn’t giving up, and they landed another hit, this time to his neck. 

One of his hands flew up to the spot automatically, and he opened his eyes to see Wras himself standing there. Zuzélan craned his head up, already anticipating another hit from his cane—but it didn’t come. “You give up yet, World-hopper? The window to save your friend is dwindling fast,” 

“We both know you’ll never let us go,” Zuzélan said. “But I’ll always win, even when I’m down here begging for him. You know I’m stronger than you.” Finally, Wras hit him across the face with his cane, and Zuzélan felt his cheek split open to spill his violet blood. Then he felt a stinging pain in his neck, and heard Oran yell something, but Zuzélan was guessing this was the moment he had been waiting for. He could finally stop pretending, because Wras won—and Wras told him as much. 

“Not for long, guppy. I got a ‘friend’ of mine to mix that up for me. You might know her? Goes by the name of Pyrifera? Gyahaha,” he laughed and tossed the syringe aside, where Zuzélan saw it clatter to the floor. “In about ten seconds, you’re done. Don’t worry though, your friend will be here for you!” He laughed at Zuzélan again, and he only barely managed to speak through the fog he felt descending on him. 

“You said… Oran would go if I took his place,” Zuzélan said thickly. He tilted to the side and had to catch himself with his elbow, and the concrete started to spin and warp under his gaze. 

“We never said when, did we boys?” Wras sent a kick to Zuzélan’s chest and he fell onto his back, staring up at the swirling ceiling. The colors bloomed to an impossibly bright hue, and Zuzélan felt like he was going cross-eyed. He wanted to tell Oran not to watch—not because Zuzélan cared what happened to him, but because Oran would never forget it if he did—but he knew Wras would force him to watch if he tried that, so instead he said nothing and hoped Oran shut his eyes. 

He felt the armor being cut from his body in another plane of existence, felt pinpricks of pain from light gashes and cuts in his body, but everything felt dull and lifeless; he much preferred the colorful, almost painless world he was in now, even as he felt himself get picked up and shoved against something hard that could have been a pillow. The back of his head felt a spiderweb of prickles as it slammed into it. Zuzélan had to wonder if Wras knew this was a painkiller. 

Sure, it was a strong painkiller that made Zuzélan feel like he was on a different planet, but it wasn’t a _poison_. He sent a silent thanks to Pyrifera as his head lolled onto someone’s shoulder. He felt their teeth in his skin, felt blood running down his back and something else like a knife tearing at his skin. 

Opening his eyes again, he saw Wras in a technicolor haze, and had the urge to give him a sweet kiss on the cheek. Dimly, Zuzélan figured it was a compound that made him more pliable in that department too, but he didn’t know if that was the intended effect. 

Maybe not, because Wras’ smirk quadrupled in Zuzélan’s field of vision, and he heard a far away voice mentioning how much of a good boy he was. 

_If only they knew how much of a good boy I was_ , Zuzélan thought. He’d come here fully expecting this, he knew what was going to happen. He only wished Oran could leave, because while he was here it was all for nothing. 

There was nothing Zuzélan could do now except knock his head lightly into the nearest surface, which happened to be resting on Wras’ shoulder. His limbs felt useless and weak, though they loosely wrapped around the pirate that was holding him tightly. Then he was on the floor, and he felt someone inside him, and he wished he could at least feel it properly. Enjoy the rough sex while it had to happen. What else could he get from this in a stupor? It was nice not to be in total pain, at least.

For the people who weren’t pumped full of drugs like Oran, it was horrible. He had to screw his eyes shut tightly so he couldn’t watch anymore, like he knew what Zuzélan had wanted to tell him. 

They weren’t partners. They weren’t romantically involved—but Zuzélan was a friend, and to Oran, this was rape. No matter how many times Zuzélan told him that it didn’t matter who had sex with him, Oran considered this rape. If Zuzélan had come to Wras on his knees begging to be fucked right here, right now so Oran could leave, Oran would have still considered it rape. He didn’t think Zuzélan even knew what it meant to care about who hurt him.

Wras hadn’t touched him, but he didn’t have to touch Oran to torture him. Oran heard too many people grunting as they stroked themselves and waited, knew the involuntary noises Wras was pulling from Zuzélan because he’d shared them. His eyes were closed, but he couldn’t turn off his brain or his memories and fill in the blanks. 

Oran wished they’d drugged him too. At least then they could be fucked silly and happy together while the pirates did what they wanted. Oran felt one of the pirates yank him by the hair, forcing his head up. They muttered a threat in his ear that he needed to open his eyes, and when he refused by shaking his head, he heard the pirate call out to the others. 

Before he knew it, he was being untied. Rather than fight—because he knew Zuzélan was helpless right now, and it would be impossible to get both of them out—Oran grit his teeth and opened his eyes as a body was thrown at him: Zuzélan. “You can hold him,” Wras smirked. Oran tried to ignore all the pants that were unbuckled around them both, and instead focused on Zuzélan. He looked like a star that had lost all light—his eyes especially seemed glazed over, and Oran didn’t think he knew where he was anymore. 

Giving him a once-over, Oran put his hand over one of the messier wounds, then rested his chin on top of Zuzélan’s head. He was going to look him over again, but Zuzélan turned his head to give Oran a foggy, distant look. “Don’t watch,” he whispered in Oran’s ear, so quietly he could almost pretend he hadn’t said anything in a voice that sounded dreamy, and so unlike him. 

Oran could take the tiniest amount of solace knowing that whatever the drug did to him, Zuzélan was in a happy place while this nightmare raged. 

Planting a kiss to Oran’s chin, he spread his legs to allow the pirate to climb on top of him again and this time, though his eyes were closed, Oran was being pushed against the wooden support he had been tied to with every thrust, Zuzélan between him and a pirate like it was a threesome. He could only hold on tightly to his friend to give him a little bit of comfort—or maybe it was Oran who needed comforting. 

In his mind’s eye, with every thrust he could still see it. Could still picture Wras and his fat cock invading his friend, because of some petty pirate war. Committing one of the most heinous crimes you could do to someone, because he hated losing. 

Oran was not the kind of man to hate, but he found that he hated Wras. 

Zuzélan, though, seemed to love Wras—because of the drug. In his loopy stupor, he recognized Wras, and pretended a little more for him. Zuzélan felt Oran’s hands keeping his deeper wounds closed, but Wras had a knife in his hand and made new ones. And the biting, all the biting… Wras bit him over and over, in any place he could reach—Zuzélan had reciprocated with weak kitten bites that didn’t hurt at all, and Wras had laughed and fucked him harder. 

After Wras had dumped his first load inside Zuzélan and stood up, he was free game. The crew took their turns with him too, until Zuzélan had gone cross-eyed again trying to keep their painfully-bright forms straight, and Oran had buried his face in Zuzélan’s hair. His jaw was set, and he wished every one of these pirates would be eaten by a monster. Every load that he felt Zuzélan take made him angrier and angrier, until the anger fizzled out into nothing but a deep sadness. 

Oran wasn’t ready for the pirates when one of them hit him with a metal baton again. As he doubled over in pain, Zuzélan was ripped from him and one of the pirates manipulated his body to make him sit up again. Then Zuzélan was forced onto his lap. “Look at him,” Wras demanded. “Or we’ll make _you_ fuck him too. Actually, that’s not a bad idea…” Sadness melted into fear, and Oran did what he was told, opening his eyes to look at Zuzélan while Wras deliberated. 

He couldn’t even hold himself up properly; one of the pirates had a fistful of hair and they held him aloft. Oran could barely recognize his beautiful blue skin, bruised and bloodied with purple as it was. Wras (and probably the rest of the crew) had left teeth marks all over his body. He had cum streaked from face to pussy, and it dripped steadily onto the concrete floor in thick globs. Despite the ruined look of him, he still looked far away as he kneeled in front of them. 

Oran worried about possible blood loss, until the pirate let his hair go and Zuzélan fell forward onto Oran’s bare chest. Automatically he wrapped his arms around the other, as though he could protect him, knowing he couldn’t. He felt the sadness well up as tears, and he hid his face in the blue hair of his friend, though he knew the pirates had seen. “Get him out of here,” Wras demanded. “Make sure he knows he lost to Captain Wras. Tell anyone about this and he’ll get much, much worse, gyahaha.” That smirk on his face was heinous, but Oran didn’t need to be told twice. 

The sea of pirates parted when Oran stood up, carrying Zuzélan like a baby. As he power walked out of the empty barn, some of the pirates spat at them both, but he couldn’t bring himself to care—he only wanted to leave. What was a little spit compared to twenty loads of cum?

Oran had to fight his way through the brambles outside, but finally he was free, free to stumble through the forest with Zuzélan curling up in his arms. Though Zuzélan wasn’t exactly light, he made a beeline as fast as he could manage for the Port, specifically wanting the tiny bathhouse all the merchants used to get clean, for himself and Zuzélan. He wanted to get in there before anyone saw them or asked any questions—Oran knew Wras would make good on his threat if he heard that Oran had told. 

Luck was still not on his side; his disappearance hadn’t gone unnoticed, and Pai was looking for him specifically. They saw him enter the bathhouse carrying a bloody Zuzélan, and put two and two together about the people who had been looking for him. _Stupid, to stay in one place for too long,_ , Pai thought to themselves, as they grabbed towels and medicine. 

Silently, Pai followed them into the tiny bathhouse and set the supplies on the bench while Oran was preoccupied with putting Zuzélan in the bath and running the water to the proper warm temperature. Instead of filling the bath, he was just running the water over Zuzélan’s body to wash away the grime. He didn’t think sitting in the filth and cum would help…

“How may I help?” Pai asked, in their neutral voice. 

Their voice made him jump, and he turned around. The look of relief on his face mingled with uncertainty. Should they tell Pai what happened? He loved his sibling, and didn’t want to keep things from them. “The pirates found him,” is what he decided to say. Pai nodded and let their cloak fall to the floor, to free up their arms. 

“I understand. There’s no need to continue,” Pai said, kneeling next to the large, rectangular bathtub. “I brought medicine for him.” 

“Thanks, Pai.” Oran dropped to his knees next to them, feeling relief that he didn’t have to keep it to himself. The two of them worked on cleaning Zuzélan up, making sure his wounds were clear and lightly scrubbing the streaks of cum from his skin. Oran couldn’t bear dealing with the cum filling his body, so Pai was the one to wipe away as much of it as they could. 

Through it all, Zuzélan was endlessly pliable and did whatever they asked; either he didn’t want to speak, or he’d forgotten how after telling Oran not to watch. It seemed mostly to be the latter, because he seemed so out of it that Oran couldn’t see any way he was cognizant of what was happening to him right now.

When he was clean from head to toe, Oran could see that his injuries weren’t as bad as he thought; there were some deep cuts, but not so deep that they needed stitches, as well as a bunch of small puncture wounds that could only be bites. Him and Pai laid Zuzélan down on the stone bench and carefully applied medicine to everything that needed it. Pai even insisted on putting something on Oran’s deep bruising. 

Finally, Oran could wrap Zuzélan’s lower body in a soft towel and carry him back to his tent. He carefully set Zuzélan down on the couch, then sat next to his head, feeling the exhaustion seep in. His body hurt and he ached all over; Oran decided to lean his head back and fall asleep, too, knowing Pai would be happy to watch his shop, just this once. 

It must have been hours later when he woke up, and the first thing he did was look down to check on Zuzélan; he was staring up at the ceiling, but the look in his eyes was finally lucid. “Hey, King. You alright?” Oran asked. 

“I’m fine. Better than I thought I’d be,” he said wryly. “Pyrifera snuck something into whatever they injected me with, so I was barely there. I can’t even remember it well.” Zuzélan didn’t hold it against her—he knew the length Wras would go to to get his way, now, and he assumed Pyri had been similarly threatened if she didn’t concoct something for him. “Did they hurt you?”

“Just some bruises. You got it much worse,” Oran said. He started doing inventory on the blue skin that wasn’t covered by a towel, though it was more purple now—Oran couldn’t tell if it was the bruising, or the venom that must be pumped through his system from the bites. 

“I told you, don’t worry about that.” Zuzélan shut his eyes. “Being forced to have sex doesn’t hurt me. They’re horrible, but at least they didn’t do anything to _you_. I would rather it be me, given that I actually _like_ that kind of treatment.”

Sighing, Oran ran his fingers through Zuzélan’s hair. “Don’t know how you pulled off getting us out of there alive. I hope you feel better soon,” he told Zuzélan. “Let’s hold off on having sex for a while, eh?” 

Zuzélan snorted and tucked his hands beneath his head, feeling the bites and cuts tug and tear as he did. “No problem. I know that, just because it didn’t affect me, doesn’t mean it didn’t affect you. I’m sorry.” 

Both Zuzélan and Oran were grateful that the other understood their feelings so well; they were also glad that neither felt guilty for what Wras had decided to do—all the blame lay with the pirate, and neither of them had to explain that. It was a dark stain on their lives, but it was something they could also heal from. 

Zuzélan opened his eyes to stare up at the tent’s ceiling again. He’d felt a glint of who he once was, while he was on his way to help Oran. It was only a distant feeling that felt disconnected from Zuzélan as a whole, but it was something. 

Maybe if he held onto it, it would build with every experience until he could find the whole, lost person that was inside of him somewhere.


End file.
